


Lion

by themuller



Series: With a lion's heart [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25266763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/pseuds/themuller
Summary: Q is rescued. Bond is worried; about Q, about a possible mole, about MI6.
Relationships: James Bond & Q, James Bond/Charles Robinson
Series: With a lion's heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813342
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17
Collections: 007 Fest Fancreations





	1. Chapter 1

Q was numb. He barely registered how he was manhandled by the other man. Not Sterling, but Bond. James Bond. MI6 had sent Bond to rescue him. Or did they? He had seen the mails, the files. Careless of them to leave them on that phone. Before he could be lost in thought, the car – where did the car come from? Q tried to concentrate, but now they were driving on the tarmac of an airfield. Towards a huge plane. A cargo plane. Why? Why was he in a car with this man? He had shot them. Q sat up. Struggling against the seatbelt. Q had shot them. Both. He gasped. Could feel his body shaking. No, not his. He was not a part of this any longer. The body was shaking. He was somewhere else. Registering, but not feeling. Not feeling anything. Floating, his mind at rest. They were dead. He had shot them. Shot them with the rifle. They had trained him. It was their own training, their rifle, that had killed them in the end. The car stopped moving. The man looked at the body. Worried? Maybe. He could not know that the body was empty. The man stepped out of the car. A few moments later, the car door at the other side of the body opened. Q registered something being said. Not an order. Just words. The body could not move. Just words, not an order. When the man, Bond, James Bond, Q remembered, reached out to pull the body out of the car, Q could register the movement. The body did not flinch. Why should it? It was empty now. Obediently, the body moved in the indicated direction. Q had always found it fascinating how easily orders were obeyed, once the body was empty. Walk towards the plane. Kill that man. Maim that boy. Spread your legs. Easy, when the ordered body was empty. No shouting. No pain. No fighting. The man, who had pulled the body out of the car, now moved slowly beside it. Q wondered why he would walk. He remembered other cargo planes. Other places. They would run. They would order this body to run. And it would. He wondered, if he should tell him. Just order the body, it will do as you wish. It will do anything, you order. Anything. But the man seemed satisfied with the speed. They walked up to the open cargo flap. The man talked with someone. Again, the body could register the sounds, but it could not make sense of them. They were not meant for the body. They were not an order. The man turned towards the body. He still looked worried. Why would he be worried? He reached for the body, turning it towards some of the seats at the side of the plane. The body moved and sat down on the indicated seat. The other man put a belt around the body. Then he walked away. Q wondered, if the man would leave the body now. But he returned. With a blanket and a cushion. He wrapped the body in the blanket, moving carefully and professionally. Q wondered if he had tried this before. The man left again. The body registered movements. The plane was moving. The man returned with a thermos. He poured something warm into a mug. Checked as if to make sure it was not too hot. Then he held the mug to the lips of the body.

“Drink.”

It was an order. The body opened the mouth. Took a swig. Swallowed. The plane moved faster now.

“Drink.”

The man ordered again. The body obeyed. It registered the warmth. And something else. Forcing Q back. Into the body. His body. His mind was fighting. Feeling the plane now accelerating to the point of lift off. His body felt warm. Sleepy. He wanted to scream. He tried to open the belt, to throw off the blanket, to fight against the darkness that crept in on him. Tried to say something, to talk to the man beside him. Blue. Blue eyes, a gentle blue, warm like him, holding his gaze as his body and mind succumbed to the drugs.

Bond was worried. The mission had been a success. He had been able to take out the whole group. Silva’s mercenaries, including his next of command, Patrice, and their headquarters. And he had found the person, who had provided them with the intel in the first place. It had not been part of his mission brief to rescue said person. And he had kept that information from Six. Robinson had made sure that only Bond was registered as a passenger. The other man, Quoll or Q, would not show on any official documents. Nor on the files, Mallory would receive. Moneypenny would meet them at the airfield with a new ID for Q. Freddy Lyon, as Bond had chosen. Robinson always had wanted to create a person by that name. Something about a BBC drama, he had watched some years back. Bond had selected it. Mostly, because Six didn’t use that alias.

He looked at the man beside him. He was sleeping now. The mild sleeping pill had done wonders. Bond put the blanket in place around Q, made sure his head was on the cushion behind him. He had been wondering what Q was to Silva and Patrice. Who were the man behind the betrayal of that group? He had met child soldiers before. Men, who had been taken from their families at a young age, often forced to kill them in the process. He wondered for how long Q had been in Silva’s group.

_“Master Silva likes young boys.”_

Bond shuddered. Looking at the sleeping man, he would estimate him to be in his late twenties, early thirties. If he had been taken at the age of six or seven, as Q had told him, that would mean he had been part of Silva’s group for about twenty years. Twenty years of brainwashing; kill or be killed. Twenty years of sexual and psychological abuse. How had he survived? How did anyone survive that kind of brutal indoctrination and control?

And why had Q reached out to Six now? Had he tried before? With one of the other agencies? Bond would have Robinson look into abduction cases from years back. Including English families from Overseas. He couldn’t believe that abducting an English boy would have gone unnoticed.

Still, Bond wondered, why Q had contacted them in the first place. Something must have happened. Robinson had talked about a mole in Six. Were those things linked to each other? Did Q know something?

Bond watched Q sleeping. His features relaxed. He looked younger, now. Bond shook his head. He would have to wait for Robinson and Moneypenny to find more information. And he would have to keep Q out of Six’ domain. One thing was that the man was traumatised. Another was, what he in fact did know. He had been able to hack into Bond’s mobile without batting an eye, turning him into Richard Sterling in front of Silva and Patrice – without them suspecting a thing.

A good thing, that Robinson was one of Tanner's minor assistants, working parttime in Boothroyd’s department as well. Nobody would be interested in keeping an eye on his flat, his clearance far below access to any kind of vital information. Except for Moneypenny, nobody knew about Bond's relationship with Robinson. _If you could call it a relationship_ , Bond thought. Leaning back in his seat, he closed his eyes. Let his mind play with memories of a dark-skinned body wrapped around him, soft moans, harsh cries, hands grabbing at each other’s butts. He opened his eyes, cleared his throat, and shifted into a better position on his seat.

What he was about to ask from Robinson would go way past their occasional shag. Bond heaved a sigh. Whatever was going to happen, he could do nothing but wait till they had landed at Fitton Airport. Far away from London, in the middle of the night. But once he was back on English soil, he would need to stay alert. Need to keep Q out of Six’ crosshairs. He would have to unravel whatever was happening at MI6. And what role Q played in it.

The trip back would last several hours more. Bond crossed his arms in front of him and decided to take a nap.


	2. Chapter 2

With a slight start, Q woke up. He kept his reactions in check, willing his breathing to even out, relaxing his muscles. Master wanted his pet silent and still, not twitching and flinching. Master would punish him if he panicked. Q’s mind was reeling. He had no idea, where he was. There were too many impressions, too many sensations flooding his perception from his surroundings. Harsh lights from above. An excruciating noise. The cold air on his bare hands, hands which were clenched into fists, the skin turning white, even as he tried to stay calm, to sit motionless. He wanted to be good. To be a good pet. Training his eyes to the ground, realising the roaring in his ears were the sounds of large engines. A cargo plane. Flying. They were flying. He wanted to scream, to run, to move, to–

The mission.

Q swallowed. Repeating the words over and over and over in his mind.

The mission.

The mission.

The mission.

Of course, they would be on a plane. Of course. The mission. They had prepared for it. Master would want him. Later. Not now. Now, he would be a good pet. Keeping still. Silent. Not moving. Unseen by Master, but not hiding from him. Never hide. Master would punish him. Master would–

Q stopped breathing.

Master was dead.

He had shot him. Shot. Him. Dead.

Master was gone.

Q gasped for air. He bent over in his seat. He tried to stifle a scream by biting in his arm. The bite would leave marks, despite of the jacket he was wearing. The fabric too thin to give any kind of protection from his teeth tearing thorugh it.

“Q?”

The voice sounded familiar. Friendly. Concerned, even. And Q remembered. The man. The man with blue eyes. The man sent by MI6.

“Q?”

A hand on his shoulder. Just a light, tender touch. Q felt tears in his eyes. Emotions, he had thought long gone, were flooding his mind and body. He wanted them to stop, wanted it to stop. He was losing control, had lost control already. The sounds, the smells, the light. Everything. Too much.

The man, Bond, James Bond, Q knew his name. Bond leaned closer, slowly. Q sat still, wanted to bolt, wanted to stay, to be engulfed by the promising warmth of the hand, the arm, the body. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak, his mouth still filled with the cheap fabric of his jacket, his teeth still trying to tear it apart, to leave marks on his arm, to break his skin.

He closed his eyes. He opened his mouth, to stop the biting. His arm hurt. It would bruise, and he could feel it. He concentrated on the pain, needed it to control himself. Finally, he just gave in. He let the tears flow freely, now, as his head lolled back against his seat, back against the strong arm of Bond. Then, Q’s body curled in on itself, into the offered embrace.

“We’ll land in a few minutes, in Fitton. England. An inconspicuous airport outside of London. It’s passed midnight in London, but one of my friends, Eve Moneypenny, she’ll be there and take us to another friend of mine, Charlie, Charles Robinson.”

Bond’s voice was quiet, peaceful, drawing him in. Q centred on the voice, the sound, the words. Blocking everything else out. Even as his body became sluggish and limp, his mind cleared, became focussed, sharp. Years of brutal training had taught him to stay alert, to take in every word, every command, every single piece of information, even while his body was abused and beaten. Information was knowledge. Knowledge which could help him anticipate his master’s next move. Knowledge, which one day might set him free.

And so, he listened and learned. About Bond’s lover, Charlie, about the place, where Charlie lived, Redwood Tower. About the people, the flat, even the stairs, the many, many steps up to Charlie’s flat. About Petey, the cat of Redwood Tower. An old cat, grim and fierce, he heard, as Bond explained about his first encounter with Petey. About bloodshed and redemption, when Bond brought a can of tuna for Petey on another visit to Charlie’s. About Charlie’s neighbours and friends, his family. Charlie had family. Eve Moneypenny, she was his cousin. And Auntie Jinx, well, it wasn’t her real name, but everybody called her Auntie Jinx. She lived in the Tower as well. And the Tower became a fortress in Q’s mind, a place filled with friendly, kind people, looking out for each other. And Petey, the black cat, living in the Tower, not being anyone’s cat, but free to roam as he liked.

Bond continued his tale. In Q’s mind, it became a fairy tale. Something, so removed from his own life and experience, a dream rather, than any kind of reality. But maybe a dream, which could become true. With people who cared.

With softly spoken words, Bond held him close, generously sharing his body heat, keeping Q wrapped up in his arms. Safe.

When the plane finally landed, Q felt as if he was waking up a second time. This time from a pleasant dream, not anything like the nightmares, his sleep used to be riddled with. Bond helped him stand and guided him to the open cargo flat. He stepped outside into the cool air of the night. The black tarmac below was dimly lit by scattered lights. Q made out the dark shadow of a woman, standing beside a car. He took a deep breath, relishing the feeling of cool air filling his lungs. Behind him, Bond was waiting patiently. Once more clenching his hands in fists, not in panic this time, but in determination, Q began to walk towards the woman.

Bond followed Q, carrying the sole bag which had survived his trip. Moneypenny’s raised eyebrow wasn’t lost on Bond. He was still uncertain if he was doing the right thing. But, as Charlie had pointed out, there were too many uncertainties as to what was happening at Six right now. With just a small nod, Moneypenny greeted them, opening the car door for Q, who hesitated till Bond gently guided him into the back seat.

With a small nod to the side, Moneypenny took a few steps away from the car, waiting for Bond to join her.

“What did you do to him? He looks like shite,” she asked with barely concealed anger.

“I’m sorry, but none of my doing, I promise,” Bond lifted his hands in mock surrender.

Looking back at the car, Q’s profile barely visible in the darkness, he shook his head.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing right now. He had a breakdown on the plane.”

Bond grit his teeth. Q’s panic had been palpable, despite his best efforts to control it. It had surprised him, how easily he could talk Q down, how much he trusted him to just let go and let Bond hold him.

“He gave us the intel to take down Silva and Patrice. And someone at Six wants to see him dead. At least my orders were to take down the whole group.”

Moneypenny frowned, but nodded. Robinson had apparently briefed her, already.

“Did you ask Mallory about the informant?”

“I had no idea there even was an informant in the group itself. Charlie told me, afterwards. Mallory didn’t mention how we got the intel.”

Moneypenny huffed.

“Charlie has made sure his arrival is kept under the radar. As it is, he doesn’t exist.”

Moneypenny looked back at the car.

“In fact, Charlie couldn’t find any trace of him anywhere. No lost children, abductions, anything, which could fit your description and Q’s age.”

“Abroad?” Bond asked.

Moneypenny just shook her head.

“No name, no nothing,” Moneypenny said with a sigh.

“Well, Charlie calls him Freddy Lyon, so there’s that,” Bond smirked, lightening the mood.

Moneypenny grinned.

“Yes, Charlie just loves that show,” she turned to walk back to the dark car. “Might want to change that into Freddy Q Lyon or something. Would probably be easier for Q to handle.”

Bond nodded. He remembered the desperation in Q’s voice back in the jungle: _“Q. That is my name. I will make it my name.”_

He looked at the car and thought back. Just a few hours ago, but for Q it must feel like a whole lifetime. He wondered if the three of them would be able to help Q remember, to find his true identity. With a deep sigh, he wondered yet again, if was doing the right thing. If he could trust Q as much as Q already seemed to trust him.

The drive back to London was uneventful. The silence in the car was broken by the radio, music interspersed with a few comments by the radio host. Neither Bond nor Moneypenny wanted to make small talk. Thinking about the recent events, including Q’s breakdown in the plane, Bond wondered how he had managed to survive for so many years. A trained sniper and computer expert, Q would have been an asset to any criminal organisation. Could they rely on him? Q had managed to escape from the very people, who had managed to turn him into a killing machine, a sex-slave beaten into submission, kept him as their ‘pet’. Bond might still have some trust issues, but he admired Q’s resilience and strength. A strength, Q would need to become who he was meant to be. In the quiet of the car, Bond vowed to help him as best he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay. I'm trying to get back into writing. Many thanks to [jellythefish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyTheFish/pseuds/JellyTheFish) who challenged me to write a new chapter for this story.


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